


Who are you? (I should be asking you that)

by jessrsermt



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Writing Prompt, a bunch of pop culture references, another au lol, i'm a percabeth trash i'm not sorry, m just to be sure, time freezer au, was supposed to be posted ages ago but ugh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 19:34:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessrsermt/pseuds/jessrsermt
Summary: He can freeze time. Everyone freezes, but somehow, she’s not part of everyone.A story based on a prompt from this Instagram account: writing.prompt.s





	1. Who are you?

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus belong to Rick Riordan.

The day starts well enough, is what Rachel Elizabeth Dare would like to tell herself but somehow the universe seems to be against her today.

She made sure to set  _three_ alarms last night, but still managed to sleep through it all. Apparently setting that certain pop song about baskets and courtside queens was no match to her stubborn ass when it comes to sleep. The song wasn't bad. She likes the artist and its message against bullies, as a matter of fact, but she's heard the song too many times that right now she's about ready to throw it up. Moving on, Rachel was running late. It even annoyed her that she couldn't even stick one or two buttered toasts into her mouth.

After Rachel buttoned down her blouse and brushed away nonexistent dust on her slacks, she grabbed her car keys and purse on the kitchen counter, checked the door's lock twice and took to the stairs, two steps at a time.

Rachel Dare glared hatefully at the traffic that greeted her. She was going to be late at the rate the cars were moving. The bank doesn't open until eight sharp. It's convenient that it's only a few blocks away—a 10 or 15-minute of breeze walk, give or take. So, with a huff, she threw her car keys in her purse and resorted to walking. She's in need of exercise, anyway.

A few minutes into her breeze walking, she couldn't handle it anymore. She pulled the tangle of headphones from her purse, wrote a mental note to finally buy those wireless ones, plugged it on her phone and easily placed the buds in each ear. She tapped on a random playlist from her heavy rotations and hit the shuffle play. A song with amazing bass starts playing.

Now, construction works were no longer new around her area. There was always something getting built or being repaired. People would go on with their business, and traffic would still be the same with or without the constructions. It might've been because Rachel Dare was in a hurry or because she was enjoying the music blaring from her earphones. It could be both, too, but there's only one thing clear: Rachel Dare did not notice the heap of metal beams hovering above or the slow moan of the crane as its chains slowly give under the weight of all those beams.

She was bobbing her head to the rhythm of the music. The chains creaked and moaned again. A few people began to notice. Everything happened in a moment after that. The chains finally snapped. Someone shouted but failed to get the woman's attention. The crowd screamed. Rachel Dare's vision snapped at the sight of the gaping people, and then she looked up. The metal beams loomed above, hurtling towards her. She choked on a scream. Her knees felt weak until her legs wobbled and gave up.

Rachel Dare slumped on the ground, looking absolutely terrified at the beams falling towards her. She had an arm over her eyes as if the gesture would save her.

The gesture didn't.

 

* * *

 

 

She waited to feel the pain or to feel  _something_ , but there was nothing. There's only nothing and then the dust.

The metal beams had fallen in front of her. Rachel Dare was still slumped on the ground and shaking. She did almost die. People were crowding around and asking if she was okay. The beams must have been a few meters off of her position or maybe the wind affected their velocity. Maybe she was just  _really_ lucky. She thought she didn't care. She's alive and that's what matters now.

Rachel looked around. There were too many faces poking and inquiring. Police and an ambulance siren holler in the distance. Someone asked again how she was feeling. She only nodded.

It wasn't only until later when the paramedics had escorted her at the back of the ambulance and had checked her for any signs of injury, that she's finally fully absorbed her near death experience. She was no longer shaking, yet she still pulled the blanket around her. She sighed. She needed to inform the bank she wouldn't be showing up for work today.

She pulled her phone from her pocket and sent a message. It was informal, but hey she almost died. She doesn't have the verve to make a decent email. The green check that told her the message was sent glared at her. For a while, she only looked at her screen, and then, she was looking for her earphones.

Arguably the earphones were a part of her  _exciting_ predicament, but she'd had them for some time now that she's grown sentimental over those death traps. She doesn't remember taking the buds off as much as pocketing them, still, she turned her pockets inside out in hopes she had. Empty. She grabbed her purse beside her. Slowly, she pulled out the earphones. A frown pursed her lips as she stared, mystified, at the pair of earphones that were properly coiled.

 

* * *

 

Everything and everyone froze. The new Michael Bublé song paused. The customer sitting at the table next to him was stuck mid-sip. The couple in front remained holding each other's hand and unblinking. Percy Jackson looked at his wristwatch and then at the café's red retro wall clock. Both were stuck at 3:15 in the afternoon. He started to be sure. Not a single hand moved.

He's had it for a while, about a few years now. He didn't have it from the start, whatever  _this_ is. If he had, maybe his mother would still be here. It didn't matter that she died of cancer. He really doubts this thing he could do with time would have stopped it from happening. It would have only prolonged the pain and inevitable, and he can't do that to his mother.

When she passed away, Percy Jackson was alone. He had gotten a few part-time jobs and sidelines until he finished high school. After graduation, he got himself a more stable job and was no longer working contractually. He's saving up for college. He always wanted to be a marine biologist, as he's always been in love with the sea and everything in it. That want burned more through the years like compensation for all the shit he went through. It was a fiery stubborn drive against everything that life threw at him.

The thing is, it's not only a well-paying job he got after graduation. A week into being a high school graduate, he learned he could freeze time. The discovery wasn't even climactic too, nothing close to a life or death situation. It was on a normal Saturday. He got an off for once. He was on his worn-out couch, watching a replay match on UFC while scrolling through Grover's text messages and waiting for his Chinese meal.

Grover Underwood is his best friend growing up. He's on the other side of the planet at some kind of save the earth campaign with his girlfriend and a bunch of his eco-warrior friends. Deep inside, Percy Jackson knows he's not entirely alone. Grover likes to remind him that with a bunch of text messages and frequent calls.

Percy smiled at the picture Grover had sent him. His best friend's girlfriend and said man were smiling at the camera. Juniper, Grover's girlfriend, was holding a sapling with both her hands.

The bell was rung and cheers erupted in the octagon arena. Percy's gaze pinned to the television. He grumbled. Of course, he didn't see the winning takedown. He could look up videos online or watch the next replay, but still, he raised a hand in exasperation and waited for the winner to be announced.

He waited a moment, but no announcement came. The frame seemed stuck on the winner's barely beaten-up face. Percy blinked. He grunted and made a grab for the television's remote beside him on the couch. He switched channels. Every single one was all frozen. He got tired and placed it back on UFC. Still on a freeze frame. He turned the TV on and off. It was still the same. He sighed and with one hand combed back his dark hair. Finally, he hauled himself off the couch and approached the television. He checked its back, the sides, and even the plug. Nothing was sparking or smelled burning.

Percy Jackson took a step back and stared at the television screen. He was starting to get really tired of the fighter's face. Out of ideas, he waved one hand in front of the television. Percy wasn't shocked at first when the people in the match started moving again. The announcer declared the winner—drawling the fighter's name in a way that made it more dramatic.

Because Percy couldn't immediately grasp what happened, he waved both hands again. Cold flooded the pit of his stomach when the announcer paused. Percy ran a hand through his hair again. His hair jutted haphazardly. He didn't notice he was trembling until he raised one hand and snapped his fingers. The announcer finally finished and the referee lifted one of the winner's fisted hands up in the air. Percy snapped again. The winner was frozen in his moment of victory.

A short breath knocked out of Percy's mouth. He smacked his lips and ran both hands on his face as though the action could wake him up. It didn't. He snapped his fingers again. The television continued. Snap. Pause. Snap. Play. There were knocks on his door. He almost jumped out of his skin. It was his Chinese.

"Coming," Percy responded. He threw the television one last look. The winner was being interviewed. Slowly, he opened the door.

Just as he was handing the delivery guy his pay, Percy snapped the fingers of his free hand. The guy stopped, his outstretched hand left unmoving in midair. Percy studied him and looked around, looking for some kind of sign that this was only some elaborate gag show, but  _nada_. The delivery man was unblinking. His mouth was slightly open, obviously frozen in a moment he was about to tell Percy something.

Percy snapped his fingers. The delivery guy reached for the money like he wasn't just momentarily frozen in time.

"Thank you, sir," he said to Percy and began to put the money in his belt bag. Still quite unbelieving, Percy snapped his fingers again. Sure enough, the man stopped. He was stuck at that moment, and finally, Percy laughed. It was a short incredulous laugh that'd make anyone think he's crazy. Maybe he is. Everything was just so  _unreal._

When the delivery guy took his leave, you can't really blame Percy Jackson for checking if he can do what he just  _did_ do. He snapped his fingers again. The poor delivery guy was once again frozen in the hallway.

"Shit," Percy Jackson had only said.

Snapping his fingers to return time and himself out of his reverie, the people began to move again. The couple in front was still holding hands, but the man told the woman something inaudible and she laughed. A new song started playing—a latest Muse song.

Percy watched the red retro clock tick as he took one smooth sip from his black coffee. He waited until he could hear Matt Bellamy's voice, and then he snapped his fingers again. Everything was once again unmoving.

He tapped his fingers on the wooden coffee table and leaned back on his chair. He let his thoughts wander for a while. He's gotten better at freezing a specific object or living thing too, although it could do some more work. He only has exactly one minute before the spell breaks and everything starts moving on their own again even without him wanting them to. That's how his  _thing_ works. It's a marvelous trick limited to a minute. Percy is not complaining. He may have already accepted whatever this is, but it didn't mean he doesn't get unnerved.

The day he told Grover about it, his best friend laughed at him for a brief moment before he asked, wide-eyed, "You're not joking?"

Telling Grover and making him believe are two different kinds of difficult. His best friend was pretty convinced in the beginning that he's only getting pranked grandly until he's realized that his pet cat will remain mid-jump in the air and, "Perce, did you just break my god damn calico?"

Grover took it pretty well too. He's more excited than bewildered. Even though he's as curious as Percy how he got it, he's quicker to set questions aside. With his help, Percy has learned that no, he can't freeze the whole world but only a few miles around and yes, the spell breaks after a minute even without him willing the time.

Percy took another sip from his coffee and stared out the café's glass windows. Weekends don't apply to a busy city. The view outside the glass windows tells him so. It wasn't even rush hour yet, but the number of people frozen outside made him feel too glad that it was his off day. He supposed the reefs can wait for him today. After all, it's back to work tomorrow and he's sure he's going to be out all day. Fieldworks can be arduous but Percy loves every minute he spends in the water and all works that meant caring for the marine environment.

He took a deep breath. A small smile was on his face. Outside the café was a woman with short light hair in a bob that reminded him of Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction, except blonde. Her hair was tucked behind her ear to reveal a white wireless earphone. Percy smacked his lips disapprovingly. The last time Percy's seen someone wearing earphones while walking, he had to freeze everyone and everything to save her from falling metal beams. He wished people were more careful.

The woman with blonde short bob remained in his vision. He studied her. She was reading—a bunch of printed out handouts on her left hand and a white blazer over her right arm. She was wearing a black tank top and a pair of casual jeans. Percy looked at the still frozen red retro wall clock, and then back at the woman. There was something wrong.

The realization came down on him all at once, a moment after she flipped one paper over another. Percy felt himself jump from his seat. He looked around. Everyone was still frozen in time. He looked back at the woman again. She continued walking. His mind swirled. He tried composing himself. He looked at the red retro wall clock again. It was still stuck in time. He looked at his wristwatch then. There were still a few seconds before this breaks, but somehow…

Percy ran to the café doors, coffee already was forgotten. He circled on his spot outside the café, looking for the only moving person in the crowd. He doesn't know if she's noticed that the people around her seemed stuck in a time lock, or maybe she's noticed. Maybe she just does not care. Maybe she's used to it. Maybe she knows. Maybe she can tell Percy whatever the hell is this that he can do. There were so many maybes that were running in his head.

Once Percy spotted her, he called out. It was the same moment the spell broke and everything continued. Maybe life just plays with him that way. People bumped into him. Some even threw him colorful words that he's sure his mother would have not been fond of hearing. He moved his way through the crowd as he grunted excuses.

He stopped at the last place he saw her, but she was no longer there. He snapped his fingers, freezing everyone in place once again. He's tall but still, he raised himself on his toes and looked over the crowd. Redhead, no. Baseball cap, no. Blonde! Not that. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He whirled and looked for something that could give him more height. Picking a green metal bench, he ran towards it and stood there.

The word "no" repeated in his head. The crowd began to move once more. He couldn't find her. He must have been standing on the bench for a few minutes when a police officer told him to go down. He was only left off with a warning and a firm talking.

Percy took one deep breath. Maybe he was only seeing things. Maybe he had overlooked. Maybe he had a mistake on his part that made him think the woman was not frozen like the rest. Maybe he was over-caffeinated. He tiredly combed his hair with one hand again and nodded to himself.

He made his way back to the café.

 

* * *

 

The orange and yellow leaves falling from trees soon turned into cold breeze and snowflakes. People started putting on more layers of clothing, singing Christmas carols and or not, and shoveling snow that ends up blocking their driveways.

It seems time goes by fast when you're always preoccupied with work. For Percy Jackson, it's not entirely true. He can always take a minute anytime he desires. A minute is enough to give himself a breather, a quick jog to the nearest toilet, or pull a harmless humorous prank on an annoying individual who's skeptic of marine preservation and foul enough to rile him up.

Winter then turned to spring, and spring is nearing its turn into becoming summer. Percy could already feel the rise of the temperature and the harsh sting of heat from the concrete. A strong wind blew and played on his already disheveled hair. You'd think to be in a city with towering buildings would stop any strong wind from gracing the population, but no, it's always there. Percy had always wondered about that.

Exhausted, Percy Jackson picked up his pace and pushed open the library's big double doors. The smell of books wafted to his nose and he sighed. He's not big on reading but he always loved the smell of books. His mom used to work part-time at a public library on days she doesn't have work at the cutesy sweets shop a few blocks away from their old apartment. They didn't have much that time, but Percy loved every moment of it.

He walked and navigated around towering wooden bookshelves and wide tables.

The library was teeming with people—mostly students cramming whatever knowledge they could restock their brains with for their finals. A young man had color-coded index cards in his hands and was muttering Physics formulas. Percy noted he was having a hard time remembering the formula for translational motion. Scrunching his nose, Percy moved forward. He wasn't too fond of Physics.

Finally, the cold air from the air conditioning system took over. Percy sighed in comfort and walked the aisles of bookshelves as he savored the smell of books and the good memories they brought.

Percy instantly remembered her, the moment he saw the almost familiar blonde bob. Her hair has grown from time. Unlike the first time he saw her, her hair now was curly like a princess' or like Kate Hudson's corkscrew-ish curls in Almost Famous. She was wearing a loose grey cotton shirt and equally comfortable dark jeans. She looked more serene than the last time.

He thought of walking away, and then he thought of approaching her. He wasn't sure. There was still that doubt that maybe he had only imagined her going against the frozen time. So, he waited—an internal struggle—and watched from quite a distance as she scanned the thick leather-bound book she had in her hands.

Beside her was Will—if Percy remembers correctly—one of the newly hired library assistants. He was on a ladder and dusting the pile of books there, before putting them back in order. Percy's pretty sure he just dusted them the other week, but who was he to point that out.

Percy only continued watching Uma Thurman or right now she's Kate Hudson. A nagging thought in his head kept insisting he should just go and get it over with, but as the seconds tick, the idea seemed to get crazier.

He was still debating with himself when Will had finished dusting off the books. Even gently, his descent was still wobbly. His foot caught the last step of the ladder, he toppled over but thankfully did not come crashing down. The ladder tipped and began to fall—right towards the same woman with fairly good bob.

"Look out," Percy Jackson found himself warning. The woman turned. Her grey eyes—Percy was admittedly shocked at how vibrant they looked—landed first at him, and then at the falling ladder.

He wasn't thinking when he did it. Well, to be fair, Percy wasn't thinking about most of the choices he did in his life. Percy Jackson snapped his fingers, and the time stopped.

The ladder paused midair. Will was frozen in his spot with a hand outstretched in front of him, in an attempt to still catch the falling ladder. The book the woman had in her hands was already lying open on the carpeted floor.

For a brief moment, no one moved, except for Percy. Until, the woman with grey,  _grey_ , eyes and blonde bob turned to him. She looked shocked, and it was an understatement.

"You can move," Percy said incredulously, mostly to himself.

" _You_ did that?" She asked him. Percy swallowed.  _She_ was even talking. Unable to form coherent words, Percy only nodded.

Her grey eyes trained on him as if she's tearing him piece by piece—scrutinizing and studying. Percy shivered. She no longer looked out of it. Instead, her initial look of shock was replaced with something akin to marvel and denial, he thought.

"How," He was going to ask, but before he could even convey whatever it was he was going to say, she bolted. She pushed him aside and he stumbled towards one of the shelves. His back ached at the sudden impact, but he ignored it and ran too.

She was almost at the exit when Percy caught up with her.

"Hey," Percy shouted. It was, of course, only in vain, as she only shot him a glare but continued running away nevertheless. He felt stupid but continued to chase after her.

Percy watched in awe as she turned around shelves and corners, and ran on tabletops when her way was blocked by Mrs. Dewitt, the old librarian, and students. It was the first time he saw someone ran away from him with so much resolve that he was sure he should've felt offended.

He snapped his fingers—willing the woman to stop—but she never did.

The woman with grey eyes outran him and vanished from his sight. Percy ran a hand through his hair—chasing the breath she literally knocked off.

She might've gotten away now, but not in the next time he sees her.

 

* * *

 

It was officially the season of summer. The heat felt harsh to the skin but the breeze still brought enough chill.

Beaches, resorts and indoor pools are always flocked with people. The number of tourists is growing as the days go. Any business benefitting from the season took advantage of the surge of people and had already marked up their prices.

Percy Jackson pulled himself from the pool. He grinned and shook his head. Drips of pool water flew from his wet dark hair. He made his way back to the white poolside bench where he left his towel and phone.

A woman with long auburn hair stood next to the bench. She was wearing one of those strapless swimsuits in maroon color. If she's planning to swim, she definitely chose the wrong attire. Her blue eyes zeroed in on him and she smiled. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn't tell.

The woman had his towel draped over one arm and in her other hand was his phone. Although Percy didn't like what he saw, he didn't show it.

"Thanks," he told her, the moment she handed him his towel. He looked away as he dried his hair.

"You're welcome," she answered, too merrily. "Here," she then said, handing Percy back his phone, when he had already left the towel on his shoulder.

Percy muttered a short word of gratitude again, checked his phone for messages—there were a couple from Grover—and turned his gaze back to the woman.

He knew he's met her before, but he couldn't put it when and where. What he only knows is that she's called Kelly or maybe Mary.

"Abby," she pointed to herself, grinning. "We met at last week's festival, remember?"

 _Ah_ , Percy thought, nodding. At least, he got the y-part right.

"You're here for a swim, Abby?" Percy asked her. He had already started thinking if ending the conversation right then will be taken as impolite.

She perked and flashed him a bright grin. "Yes, but I'm not really good," she told him. She then said something about learning to swim and how much she's really nervous about it.

Percy had meant to listen, honestly. But the moment his eyes honed in on the woman with short curly blonde hair and grey eyes, he's forgotten about Abby.

Her hair still had that Kate-Hudson-from-Almost-Famous look, but the longer Percy stared, the more he thinks she looked like a princess especially with the curls of her hair. The woman was on another white poolside bench. She was wearing a blue cover-up and a long flowy skirt in the same color. In her hands was a thick leather-bound book.

 _Of course, she's reading again the next time I see her_ , Percy thought to himself. He watched as she tucked a few strands of her curly hair behind her ears. Her eyes remained focused on the book she was reading. Percy found himself smiling.

"Who are you looking at?" Abby had asked, offended. His cheeks flared. She got his attention now, alright.

"Could you excuse me for a moment, Abby," he told her instead, gave her a tight-lipped smile, didn't even wait for her response, and went up to the familiar grey-eyed woman.

Percy cleared his throat first. Maybe he should have thought about what he's going to tell her first. He tried his best not to put a hand on his nape. It's his nervous tick, and he refuses to acknowledge that he is, in fact, nervous.

She looked up from her book. He had forgotten how intense her grey eyes are. They reminded him of storms, the end and glint of a fishing hook, a shark's fin or better yet a pearl from an oyster that's freshly pulled right out of the bay. The color's absolutely calming and endearing; the intensity made his heart do a series of jumping jacks. Gently, she closed her book, not taking her eyes off of him.

"We need to talk," Percy said. He really does not know where he was getting all this confidence, but it feels all or nothing now.

Admittedly, he's scared that like before, she's going to run off again without giving him a chance to talk or get a sensible answer. He really should have thought this out first.

"Yes, I think we do," she answered, and it took a moment for Percy to realize that she's not running away but instead, had agreed. Her voice was soft and a little quiet. Percy could almost see a hint of a smile gracing her lips. He focused.

Moving as though she had all the time in the world, she pulled herself from the bench. Percy would've offered her a hand if he wasn't too entranced at her and at how easily this was going as compared to the last time they had seen each other.

Finally standing up, she began to move around him. She was looking at him like a cat would look at a prey—cornered and helpless. Okay, so maybe Percy was a little scared of her, even if he's the one who can freeze time. He couldn't help it. Her eyes seem to pick on him piece by piece.

"Hold this for me, please," she told him. A pretty wide smile graced her lips. Percy only nodded, dumbfounded, and grabbed the book.

Maybe he should have not thought it sooner, because as soon as the book was in his hands, she ran away.

Percy sputtered. He made an attempt to plead her to stop but thought against it. He sighed—annoyed—left his phone, towel and the woman's book on the bench she's previously occupied and made chase.

People had told them to "watch it" or a few colorful words as they ran around the pool towards the exit.

They couldn't run as fast as they can since one false step could make them slip or knock out their heads. It had been easy running after her.

The idea struck him all at once. Percy ran—enough to stay on her tail but not enough to catch her. Once she's near the double-doors, he snapped his fingers.

All the noise died down with the sudden stop in time.

The woman pushed the door open, or at least she tried to, but it wouldn't budge. Like everything else, it was stuck too.

Percy slowed his pace down. She continued to push the doors. She huffed, before pulling the doors. She grumbled. Truth be told, he found it a bit entertaining and was tempted to watch her make the door budge.

Afraid to see her come up with a solution or, Percy touched her shoulders gently. She whirled, blonde curly hair flying, and crossed her arms as soon as her eyes met his. She looked like she wanted to beat him up or cry. Maybe it was both.

Percy raised his hands. "I just want to talk," he told her.

For a moment, she was only quiet. She was rocking back and forth on her feet, but she never did remove her grey eyes on him. Although unsettling, they're undeniably beautiful.

Percy waited. Time began to unfreeze, but he was quick to make it still with another snap of his fingers. He waited again.

The woman's shoulders began to slump. She still had her arms crossed in front of her, but she managed, "Fine, talk."

Like a cue, those words were enough to make his mind flooded with questions. He needed answers. He needed to know what  _this_ is or what he is, even. How did he get this? What does this mean? Why him? Why now and not then? Is he crazy? Maybe, he got in an accident years ago and is actually in a medically-induced coma, and this is all a dream. If not, then holy shit, he can freeze time! And why is she the only person, by far, who doesn't seem to be affected? Percy had many questions, but none of that he was able to articulate first.

"Who are you?" He asked her.

The woman's lips slightly dipped. She was looking at him critically with those grey eyes that seemed to bore on him. His skin felt like wildfire.

A heartbeat later, she said in return, " _I_ should be asking you that."

 


	2. Do Me a Favor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve probably taken a lot of time and chewed on this chapter far more than necessary. It took a ton of convincing from my good friend but here it is. Honestly, I can’t really leave this story without giving it a proper flow and closure. I’ll do my best to update once a month but I’m not making any promises and nothing’s set in stone, yet. Questions re the story will be answered in due time.
> 
> I’d also like to hog this space right here to wish said friend, a happy birthday. It’s a little early and I did vow you this as a gift. I hope everything works out for you, Bel. We may be miles away and annoy each other sometimes, but I’ll always be thankful to you.
> 
> Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus are owned by Rick Riordan.

“Who are you?” He asked her.

 

The woman’s lips slightly dipped. She was looking at him critically with those grey eyes that seemed to bore on him. His skin felt like wildfire.

 

A heartbeat later, she said in return, “ _I_ should be asking you that.”

 

Percy Jackson stared dumbly at the grey-eyed woman in front of him. Okay, so maybe her blue ensemble was distracting him and how the color looks so good on her skin and well, yeah, he’s got a pretty biased opinion about the color.

 

“Percy,” he told her, jutting out one hand for a handshake. Look at him, all professional; only if his mouth was cooperating and his brain, too. He smiled at her, “Percy Jackson.”

 

“Is that your real name, _Percy_ Jackson? Nothing it stands for?” She cocked her head to the side. Tendrils of her golden curls fell down her face.

 

“Perseus,” he nodded, “too formal and mythical. Percy’s fine.”

 

He watched her nod and mutter his name under her voice as if testing the roll of every syllable on her tongue. He asked, “Do you have a name or am I going to run after you again before you give me yours?”

 

The corners of her mouth slightly dipped, once more. She raised one hand in the air, muttered “Hold on a sec” and turned towards the double-doors.

 

She pushed it again, muttering profanities under her breath. Percy crossed his arms across his chest and looked on amusedly. She pushed the doors again but it didn’t budge. Time was still frozen and she can’t do anything about it. She grumbled some more and began pulling the door handles, hoping it’d work.

 

“I think you’re supposed to push that, princess,” Percy said later. A feeling of triumph swallowed his heart as the blonde’s neck and then her face began to turn red.

 

“Nice insight.” She turned to face him and beamed, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “My next plan was to start sliding the doors.” Still, with that grin on her face, she gave the doors one more stubborn tug and grumbled, “Right.”

 

Percy could feel it, that exact moment right before time resumes again. It’s like a tug on his chest and tingles at the tip of his fingers. There’s a vague sense with it like it’s starting to get slower but also faster at the same time. “Come get me,” it would taunt. He snaps his fingers before everything was moving again and time’s stopped for another minute.

 

“I’m not at all good at math but I think that’s already more than “a sec,” right?” He asked, smiling mischievously at her and only to have her glare back with so much ferocity.

 

“Fine,” she said. Percy knows it’s supposed to be some sort of surrender but she made that one word sound as though she’s doing him a favor. Maybe she is, but he’s not admitting that just yet. “I’m Annabeth,” she stretched one hand out and he grasped it as gently as he could. “Annabeth Chase,” she added, looking him in the eyes as they shook on it.

 

“Annabeth,” he nodded, smiling to himself. He didn’t tell her it was a pleasure to meet her. Sure she’s pretty and maybe, she’s amazing when you get to know her. The point is, he could’ve said that before, but he’s just about out of patience right now so the very idea of that had already been thrown out the window. “I thought you were going to make me keep freezing time. We would’ve stayed here forever.”

 

“You can do it forever,” she agreed and narrowed her cold grey eyes at him. “Yet, I suggest you shouldn’t. You don’t know what sort of attention you’re attracting. You’re already a beacon, even just by doing it once.”

 

Running a hand through his dark hair, he sighed and looked up the ceiling. The light hitting the pool and reflecting on the water’s surface going upwards gave the subject of attention a pale blue color. His mother raised him right. He doesn’t pick on girls just because they’re being obnoxious. He blinked twice at the ceiling and then finally looked and smiled at the blonde.

 

“You see, I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he admitted, “I was hoping you could help me with that.”

 

“That’s why you’re here, right? So, ask your questions,” she answered.

 

Percy gave her a suspicious look, one that she didn’t miss. Annabeth rolled her eyes.

 

“Okay maybe not right now,” she was nodding as the words were out of her mouth. “How about we go home first, change and _then_ meet up later and you can get your answers.”

 

“I’m not sure,” Percy placed a hand on his chin. “What if you try to run away again?” He snapped his fingers.

 

“I wasn’t asking,” she bit, “stop freezing time!” If she looked mad before, she looked murderous then. She had her hands on both hips and she was looking at him with her stormy grey eyes in a way teachers back in high school would usually look at him before they give him detention.

 

“I—” Annabeth huffed, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I won’t run away. I’ll meet you in forty-five minutes. You deserve answers and I’ll try to tell you whatever I can. Trust me, Jackson.”

 

Should he? Annabeth Chase ran away from him three times. No one has ever fled from him with that much determination, he _should_ really be offended.

 

“ _Hestia’s Diner_ ,” he said after a moment. “Do you know that place?”

 

She nodded, stray curls breaking away from being tucked and kept behind both ears. “I’ll meet you there in forty-five minutes. I promise.”

 

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep, Chase,” he murmurs.

 

“I always keep my promises, Jackson,” she rebutted.

 

The laughter of the children playing near the edge of the pool was the first to ring out. Then the buzz of people’s chatter returned and soon, everyone was moving again.

 

* * *

 

 

Annabeth will kill him. Percy was sure of that.

 

He flicked his hand in front of him and shot his wristwatch a look to check the time. Yes, he’s running late. Thirteen minutes off the agreed time, oh wait, nope, fourteen now.

 

He hasn’t known Annabeth Chase that long. In fact, the only time they ever conversed was certainly bordering between sarcasm and trying not to annoy each other to death. Yet, he’s pretty sure she’s not the type of person who’s all buddy with someone who runs late for an appointment and or commitment. God knows, Percy’s a chronic case of tardiness.

 

It’s not his fault, though. No one was to blame, thank you. In fact, he had been on his way to the diner half an hour ago. He would’ve got to the diner just in time, too. Instead, as soon as he stepped out of his door, his eyes landed on the willowy Latino carrying boxes towards the vacant unit right in front of his. Carrying wasn’t even the right word to use. In reality, he was struggling to balance two boxes in both hands and was pushing another box on the floor with one foot. Maybe not the smartest way to go about the task, but hey at least there was an attempt.

 

“Do you need help, man?” Percy asked, ready to offer a helping hand.

 

The Latino’s dark brown eyes darted to him. He grinned, “Thanks, but it’s okay. I got this.”

 

Percy nodded. This was at the same time that the man with eyes that were as dark as his curly hair sneezed. One box ripped open from below and released a few trinkets and a bunch of clothes. He must’ve kicked the box on the floor wrong too, because that toppled over and spilled open on the hallway’s floor and out came rolling a few glasses along with dishes clanging together.

 

“I got it,” Percy chased the two rolling glasses. He picked them up with a grin and hurried back to the owner.

 

“Thanks, man. I’m Leo. What a way to make an entrance, right?” the Latino grinned but without looking up from his task of dumping the fallen items into their respective boxes.

 

“I’m Percy,” he answered, “I’ll just pretend I didn’t see anything.”

 

“Why not?” Leo asked. He shot him a look; grin, still on his face. “Ladies dig it. Scrawny is the new sexy.” He stacked all three boxes together, grunting as he did so, and turned to Percy. “Listen, I still have three more boxes below. Do you want to help out a man? You’ll get paid with good karma”

 

Percy laughed. He’s not sure about karmas but still agreed.

 

Fifteen minutes later, he’s learned few things about his new neighbor, Leo Valdez, and had managed to give him good advice to avoid their next door neighbor who Percy swears bathes on child tears and eats hatred for breakfast.

 

“Sorry,” Percy called out, not looking back at the couple he almost trampled down the sidewalk. He made a bad decision of checking his wristwatch again. He’s fifteen minutes late, now.

 

He pulled open the doors, making its bells chime. Beads of sweat dripped down his neck and he was quick to wipe them with a handkerchief from his back pocket.

 

His sea-green eyes wandered around the diner, looking for a certain grey-eyed woman with golden curls that okay, he admits really do look like that of a princess. The temperature inside finally won over the heat from outside and soon, he’s finally comfortable but still parched.

 

At the farthest corner, in a booth against the walls, was someone reading a book with big red letters. She was so engrossed in the book that she had already cocked her head to the side and hidden her face behind the paperback. Percy couldn’t see her face but after all the chasing, he’s pretty confident that’s her back there with the book and the golden crown.

 

“Here I thought you got swallowed by the road,” Annabeth spared him a look over her book. _The Knife of Never Letting Go_ , he read the book’s title. It’s got a black, white and red cover and each page’s edges were also dipped black which seemed pretty cool and interesting for someone like Percy who rarely nay, almost never reads something for fun.

 

“Hey,” he simpered, “thanks for waiting up.”

 

Annabeth didn’t say anything, but only closed her book. She gingerly placed it in her bag, sitting next to her, and looked at him. “At least you’re only…” she trailed off. Her phone’s screen lit alive as she checked the time. She finally added, “Fifteen minutes late.”

 

“Thanks,” he smiled.

 

She rolled her grey eyes at him and muttered, “I was being sarcastic, idiot.” Percy only grinned some more.

 

“Did you order already?” Percy asked her, sobering up.

 

The blonde shook her head. “No. I was waiting for you.”

 

“Aw,” Percy teased, putting a hand on his chest. “I’m flattered, Annabeth.”

 

She only rolled her eyes at him again, but Percy could make out a smile ghosting her lips. He thought it was a win.

 

A young waitress approached them, jot down their orders on a small notepad and minutes later, they were already digging in on their food of choice and getting acquainted with each other’s silence that wasn’t awkward but wasn’t comfortable, either.

 

“So,” Percy started, swallowing a piece of fry, “what do you do, Annabeth?”

 

“Perseus—”

 

“ _Percy_ , please,” he insisted. The blonde nodded, looking at him as she took a small sip from her strawberry milkshake.

 

Annabeth looked at him then, rotating the shake’s bendy straw with her fingers. “I thought you wanted to talk about those stunts of yours with time, Percy?”

 

As much as he desperately wants to, he’s also anxious to hear her answers. It’s been years now since he had this thing that he could do with time, but it still scares him. It’s fantastic and magical, but what if it comes with repercussions he doesn’t know about?

 

“Humor me,” he smiled at her. He plucked two fries from the big plate which he and Annabeth were sharing and dipped the pair in his chocolate shake before eating them whole.

 

Annabeth watched him. Soon, she was nodding and saying, “I’m studying for my masters in architecture, but I also work at this firm down the complex.”

 

“The uh—” The green-eyed man abruptly stopped, eyebrows furrowing as he realized he doesn’t exactly remember the architecture firm’s name. He took a stab, “the ETNA group?”

 

 _“ATNA,”_ she corrected him, “yeah that’s the one.”

 

“Oh wow, that’s amazing! Good for you, then.” Percy beamed at her, again. His tone wasn’t humoring, instead, it was genuinely honest and something new to the blonde. It’s different from the tones she heard from other people. Annabeth doesn’t say it, but she likes Percy’s tone better.

 

“Thanks,” she grinned widely at him. Her teeth were white and the expression made the grey of her eyes lighter and warmer. “How about you?” She asked, then. She took a bite from her cheeseburger, without removing her grey eyes off of him.

 

“Marine biologist. I mostly deal with fieldworks, though,” he said, “diving, monitoring, species inventories and often testing, too. Why an architect?”

 

Annabeth smiled at him but didn’t answer for a while. He thinks he likes her smile, just because. He briefly examined his own cheeseburger and its apparent lack of the color blue. He was tempted to ask the waitress earlier to dye all of his order blue but thought against it. He’s barely a customer at _Hestia’s_ , he doesn’t have that certain perk to request something ridiculous just yet. Besides, he’s here to talk about something more ridiculous, and he’s trying his best not to look too obvious.

 

“It’s got certain freedom from doubt. It’s—” Annabeth finally responded. She paused briefly, finding the right words, still with a glint in her grey eyes. The pair of silver plates looked brighter, kind of like the skies on a bright grey day. “Some people may think architecture is complex with the blueprints, the work, and the _math_ ,” she laughs, “but for me, it’s right to the point. It _is_ what you see. I don’t know. There’s comfort with it, too, to know that you’re making something permanent. I like that.”

 

Percy was smiling and nodding along. He took a few sips from his chocolate shake and nodded again. Annabeth does not need to say it; Percy knows she loves architecture. He can see it in her eyes. He can hear it in her voice.

 

“So, why a marine biologist?” Annabeth took her turn to ask, mimicking Percy and taking a sip from her own strawberry drink.

 

The green-eyed man only shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s something I’m good at.”

 

“Studying marine?” She cocked her head to the side, ever so slightly.

 

“I was thinking swimming,” he smirks, “but yeah that one, too.”

 

“Dork,” Annabeth snorted. Okay, Percy was sure that was meant to be an insult, but the smile gracing her lips and the gentle way she’s looking at him convinced him otherwise.

 

Percy didn’t say anything and just smiled. He took two more fries from the plate and dipped them again in his non-blue chocolate drink and happily bit into them by two. He watched in amusement as the blonde picked a couple of fries from the plate and dunked them in her strawberry shake.

 

“Good, right?” Percy asked her. She nodded enthusiastically, making him laugh.

 

Annabeth took another fry from the plate. “Can I?” She asked, gesturing her fry at Percy’s chocolate drink and looking at him patiently.

 

“Uh, sure,” he nodded, smiling a little. Annabeth grinned, said a brief thanks, dipped her fry in his drink and bit into it with a smile that Percy decides he likes. Maybe that fact had already been established earlier, but he thinks it’s worth stating again.

 

“Am I crazy, Annabeth?” Percy asked a few seconds later. He’s still not ready to know answers, but he supposed now is a better time than later. By stalling, he’s only prolonging his agony and probably Annabeth’s, too.

 

The blonde stared at him. Her grey eyes blinked and then they blinked again. “You’re not crazy, Percy. We’re not crazy.”

 

As if to check, he looked at his hands. He wondered what could just be in them or in his fingers, rather, that makes them capable of doing what they can do with time. What was in him that made him able to freeze it just as people can hold their breathing? Of all people, why him?

 

“What is this?” He asked, voice low and only but a whisper.

 

“You can freeze time,” she answered the obvious. Percy looked at her with his lips pursed and eyebrows wrinkled.

 

She sighed, pushing her drink away from her on the table. “Tell me what you know so far.”

 

“Just,” Percy shrugged, “that I can freeze time which only lasts for a minute.”

 

Annabeth nodded, gesturing for him to continue. Percy licked his lips and nodded in response.

 

“Everything freezes. Well, everything except—”

 

“Me,” Annabeth said, even before he could.

 

Percy was nodding again. “Why’s that?”

 

“What else do you know?” She prodded, completely ignoring his question.

 

“Just that,” he shrugged again, “and that my ability only affects certain coverage.”

 

The blonde’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you sure?”

 

He said yes and went on to explain that his best friend helped him with that. Annabeth did not like the idea of him sharing that specific secret, but yielded soon enough when he managed to convince her that his best friend will never do something that’d put him in trouble and _yes, Annabeth, I trust him._ Getting back on track, she asked him about the last time they checked their little assumption. He told her that it was a few years back, a few months right out of high school. Annabeth irritably grumbled that’s _more_ than a few years, but he only shrugged at her and smiled a little which annoyed her more than ever.

 

“Percy,” Annabeth gestured her hands in front of her, trying not to strangle the living daylights out of the green-eyed marine biologist. “That was long ago,” she stated, raking her suspended hands through and down her golden curls. “You know how when we’re learning something—”

 

“Like swimming?” Percy asked, trying to add an input.

 

Annabeth nodded, “Like swimming. We’re learning the basics first, swimming near the edge, learning to paddle, using a lifesaver, bobbing our heads and only being able to swim for a short distance.” She paused, staring into his eyes, before continuing, “Freezing time is just like that. At first, you’re only stopping one certain area and then before you even know it, the world.”

 

Percy somewhat leaned forward, his arms propped on the table. “How do you know any of that, Annabeth?”

 

The shade of her grey eyes looked darker but sharper. They were storms brewing and silver bullets whizzing through the air. She bit her lip, looking uncertain, before whispering, “I could freeze time before, until one day, I couldn’t anymore.”

 

The dews building on the tall bodies of their drinks ran down. Percy stared as they began to pool under his glass.

 

A little girl sitting with her mother in the booth before theirs was singing a song as she drew something on a paper placemat with a brown crayon, both of which were provided by the diner. The way she pronounces her words all have a back rounded sound into them and the lyrics of the song melded hauntingly with Annabeth’s words. For a while, Percy didn’t say anything as he processed what she told him.

“…she can mob the hawk. One’s for sorrow. Two for joy. Three’s for a girl and four’s for—”

 

“Sweetheart,” her mother cut in, “eat your waffles.”

 

“Yes, mummy,” she nodded.

 

“That’s why you don’t freeze with time,” Percy concluded, finally looking at the blonde in front of him again.

 

“That’s what I think,” Annabeth answered, “I guess that explains it.” She winced, not really comfortable with the fact that she’s not giving an answer with a hundred percent certainty.

 

“Okay,” Percy nodded. “Okay,” he said again, still nodding. He knows it that Annabeth won’t be able to give him all the answers. Still, he’s thankful with the answers she could give and tries to give.

 

He sighed, took a sip from his chocolate drink, and ran a hand through his hair. They’re probably exceptionally askew now, but he doesn’t care. “How did you get it?”

 

Annabeth bit her bottom lip, curling a few strands of her already curly hair around one finger. “It was a normal day, except it wasn’t at all.”

 

Percy snorted, remembering the day he learned he could freeze time. That day escalated from an earthly weekend afternoon to absolutely crazy.

 

“I was seven,” she smiled, “I was terrified. Imagine a seven-year-old girl staring horrifyingly at her twin brothers frozen stuck mid-cry and unmoving in their crib. I thought I had killed them. I—” she faltered. Percy frowned and asked her if she’s okay. She shook her head and then nodded. “I just wanted them to stop crying,” she was finally able to say. “Then later, I found out it was not only my brothers who were frozen. It was _everything_.”

 

She drew a circle on her misty glass of strawberry shake and continued, “I was enthusiastic, after that. Inhumane power and a seven-year-old girl should never be introduced to each other. I would stop time more than necessary after that. Thing after thing happened and then—then I was running away and then they came.”

 

“They?” Percy asked her.

 

“What else do you want to know?” She looked at him, grey eyes narrowing on him. Once again, just like that, she pretended he didn’t ask her another question.

 

“How did I get it?” His brows were furrowed. “Why me?”

 

“Why not you?” Annabeth asked in return. He thought it was rhetorical. He kept quiet, instead.

 

The blonde leaned forward now, voice lowering, “You know how everyone’s born with equal potential to _be_ anything? Give them years and they get fixed at being just that one thing they desire or thrown at another thing they absolutely can’t fight against.” She looked at him, wide-eyed and conspiring. “That’s what this is. It’s tons of possibilities, catalysts, and factors and, and I just hate how random it is.”

 

And Percy understood. He’s one of the many random people who was chosen by some sort of fate to be achingly different. For what purpose and until when? What good will it do to him? What good will it do to the world?

 

Percy leaned back, ran a hand through his hair again and briefly looked up the ceiling before looking back at Annabeth. “Are there more like me?”

 

Annabeth pursed her lips. He thought she’d avoid that question, too, but she answered, “I was told there are people like us—no, like _you_. People scattered around the globe.”

 

“So, there are many people who can do what I can?”

 

She shook her head. “No. Not like what you can do, but _like_ you. A different person with a different ability.”

 

“How many?”

 

She sighed, “I don’t know everything, I admit. Collectively? Quite a lot. In one place? Maybe one or two, sometimes none at all.”

 

Percy licked his lips, nodding. He moved forward, reaching for his cheeseburger, and ate it while he processed her words. Annabeth pursed her lips, watched him for a while and then leaned towards her strawberry milkshake for a few sips.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Percy said later, burger all done and halfway through his chocolate shake. “How come you can’t freeze time, anymore?”

 

Annabeth hummed as she ate the last piece of their fries. “I guess, I grew out of it? I’m not sure.” She frowned. Percy learned she hates it when she’s not sure of something. “I just know I can’t pause time, anymore. I know cases where people lost their abilities as they were growing up, too. One day, you learn you’re not as normal as you think and you start running.” She sighed, grey silvery eyes boring on him but also looking so far away. “Then another day, you’re as normal as normal can be again, as if what you’ve been running from the past years didn’t exist and don’t matter, anymore—” she laughed, bitterly “—as if all your struggles are nothing but insignificant.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Percy found himself saying. A small, cautious smile painted his lips.

 

“Don’t be,” she smiled just as small, “I’m actually glad it’s over.”

 

“Annabeth,” Percy’s voice was firm but still careful. “I need you to be honest with me. Am I doing something bad to the world, every time I freeze time? Is there something I should watch out for? Am I in trouble? Am _I_ trouble?”

 

The blonde props her chin on one hand and stares at him, plucking every part of him with her startling grey eyes. “When time starts again, it will have to move fast for it to catch up.”

 

“So you’re saying,” Percy frowned and rubbed an eye with one hand curled into a fist. “I _steal_ time?”

 

“Your words,” she said, “not mine.” She took a sip from her strawberry shake, not removing her eyes on him. “There are a lot of people, you should avoid. There will be people who will want to exploit your abilities. There are people watching you, trying to decide what to do with you and won’t bat an eye to remove you if you’re painfully unbalancing the world. Of course,” she briefly paused, “there’s you. What will you do with your power, Percy?”

 

“I—” he opened his mouth.

 

“’m not done yet,” she snapped but without anger, “there’s this covert, government law and enforcement agency that monitors people like you. People like who I was. They’re in charge of maintaining the balance and all that bullshit.” She laughed, the curse coming out thick and rolling out of her tongue and lips. Percy blinked at her.

 

Annabeth gestured at herself. “What you’re seeing is a reinvention of what I was before. I have had my dark moments and I wasn’t too cooperating,” she scoffed. Percy thought she may be thinking the same thoughts as him. She isn’t too cooperating now, too. “They finally caught up to me and hid me away. Some weren’t as lucky. They were _removed_ out of the equation because the bureau didn’t have any other option. Kind of like the trolley problem, you know?” She looked at him and he nodded. “It’s a matter of choice and the plan’s quite logical, to be honest. I’d give them that.”

 

Percy leaned into her words and the tone in her voice. The words were heavy and dragging like she’s trying so hard to convince herself that it’s the truth. Sharing her thoughts with Percy felt cathartic. The thorns were getting plucked one by one and finally, she could breathe easy.

 

“How come you’re…” he trailed off, gesticulating wildly.

 

Annabeth’s lips quirked up. “You sure have the gift of the gab.”

 

“You know what I mean,” he grumbled.

 

“With all that I know, how am I still alive?” Annabeth asked him. He simply nodded. She hummed again, “It’s simple, Percy. They mean to remind me that they can hurt me anytime.”

 

The blonde’s phone rang on the table, screen lighting up, shocking and somewhat making them jump off their seats. Percy smirked at her pink face and managed to catch a _Mrs. Castellan_ ’s caller ID on her phone’s screen before she excused herself away from their booth and answered the call.

 

“Hey, May,” Annabeth beamed, phone already on her right ear. “What do you mean moving him?” She frowned and walking away, carrying the words with her until Percy couldn’t hear her anymore.

 

Annabeth’s been only been gone for a minute or two when she comes back, eyebrows knitted. “Hey, can I borrow your phone? Mine died.” She raised said phone in the air and waved it.

 

“Uh, sure,” he nodded, pulling his phone out his pocket and handing it to Annabeth. “Annabeth Chase, without a fully-charged phone? Here I thought, you always come prepared and brimming with plans.”

 

She took his phone from his hands and said, “You can’t always plan everything, Percy. Look at me. I didn’t plan on talking to you at all yet, here we are.

 

Percy snorted. “Yeah, keep convincing yourself that, Annabeth.” She rolled her eyes at him, lips tugging upwards at the corners and walked away, already dialing.

 

“I’m surprised they haven’t sought you out, yet,” Annabeth says later, sliding back in the booth and handing him back his phone. She muttered thanks and he only nodded.

 

Percy placed his arms on the table and leaned forward. His sea-green eyes searched her grey ones and asked, “Are “they” good or bad?”

 

“There’s no such thing as “good” or “bad” in this world, Percy Jackson.” She stared back, just as firm and unyielding.

 

The answer was vague, but he thinks he gets what she’s trying to pass across. Percy nodded again, saying his gratitude for every answer the blonde has given him.

 

Annabeth Chase looked at his hands on the table and then at his wristwatch. She still has work to do, a building plan to oversee and now, after that call, a place to go. She took a deep breath, looking directly at the man’s green eyes that remind her of ocean waves as they lap towards the shoreline.

 

“Listen, Percy.” She gestured her hands. “I don’t have anything against you. It was nice talking to you.”

 

Percy looked confused, but otherwise, still smiled.

 

“But can you do me a favor?” She asked. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

 

* * *

 

Mondays are a pain in the ass.

 

Percy Jackson’s alarm woke him from a nightmare of which details he can no longer remember, anymore. He rolled out of bed and fell face first on the cold wooden floor. He allowed himself a few seconds to grumble about his misfortune and hauled himself from the floor to take a shower and grab a quick breakfast at the nearest hole-in-the-wall. He bristled. He hates their coffee and their sandwich is adequate, but it’s near his way to work, they’ve got quick service, and the menu offers cheap food that, although subpar, won’t poison him.

 

He sipped from his warm coffee, as he navigated through the busy sidewalk, and sighed. An impish smile was on his face. “Tastes like broken hearts and ill-will,” he shook his head, grinning at the crappy coffee in one hand.

 

His thoughts wandered to this weekend. Grover Underwood, his best friend growing up, dropped by with two cheese enchiladas and manhandled him into watching a global warming documentary with him. Okay so maybe Grover couldn’t manhandle for shit, but Percy didn’t have the heart to say no to his best friend.

 

It’s been twenty minutes into the documentary, Grover was contentedly eating his cheese enchilada and Percy’s thoughts were far away. They were so far away that they went back a few weeks well into the summer.

 

Grover tapped him with the back of his left hand and asked him what he’s thinking. Percy grumbled and Grover tapped him some more, narrowing his brown eyes at him. Percy finally cracked under pressure.

 

He told him about Annabeth Chase and the answers she’s given him. His best friend got this look on his face, as though something bit him nasty but he assured him that it was nothing. So Percy told his best friend his story, from the moment he’s seen the blonde up until their last meeting and her stupid favor.

 

“I mean why would she say that, right?” Percy asked Grover. He raised two hands up in the air. “She said that it was nice talking to me. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t.” He turned to his best friend, frowning a little. “Did I?”

 

Grover snickered. "Come on, man.”

 

“What?” Percy’s eyebrows were furrowed, looking utterly confused and distressed.

 

“ _Uma Thurman?_ ” Grover asked. His eyebrows were raised, prompting him like he should know this. “ _Kate Hudson?”_

Percy only looked on, still confused.

 

“Dude, they were your celebrity crushes growing up!” Grover tapped him with the back of his hand again, laughing.

 

“Are you—” Percy spluttered. His ears and nape felt hot. “Did you just—are you implying I have a _crush_ on Annabeth?”

 

Grover shrugged, smiling at him, “Well, I’m just saying—”

 

Percy gestured, arms flailing, and then ran a hand through his already messy dark hair. “No, Grover. Shut up.”

 

His best friend laughed again, slightly shaking his head and looking back at the television screen. “Cheese enchilada?” He offered to Percy, after a few minutes.

 

Percy sighed. “Pass it on, G-man.”

 

A man in a business suit, gabbing on his phone, almost bumped into Percy. The green-eyed marine biologist hissed and immediately moved his coffee away from him to avoid spilling. It’s one of the worst coffee he’s ever drunk, but he needs his caffeine and his polo was new and just freshly washed and pressed. Yeah, he’s not risking a spill.

 

The man apologized distractedly as he continued down the road, not even removing the phone against his ears. Percy shrugged just as his phone rang from inside his pants’ pocket.

 

He pulled the phone out and answered it without even checking the caller ID. He should’ve, but you can’t really regret anything before making any action.

 

“The black car on the other side of the street, do you see it?” A deep voice asked. It was low and distant. Percy looked across the street. Indeed, a black car was parked there. Its windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see who was inside.

 

“Who’s this?” Percy asked, perplexed and bothered.

 

“Formal introductions are meant to be made in person, Perseus Jackson,” the voice answered and laughed shortly like this was something that came out of a joke book. “Be a good boy and get in the car.”

 

“ _Who’s this?”_ Percy pressed. He looked around. He didn’t notice them before. Now that he’s looking, he counted four men in black suits with red neckties scattered around him as if to contain him there and not let him run away.

 

“You should just really get in the car, son,” the man at the end of the line told him, still distant and calm.

 

Percy tried not to gnash his teeth. He ended the call, pocketed it back in his pants and carried on his task of walking towards his work. Whoever he is, with men or not, they can’t touch him there. The streets are busy and people would be able to see. They can’t touch him.

 

A telephone began to ring. People shot the payphone quizzical looks as they move along. Percy huffed, grabbed the phone off its hook and pressed it to his ear.

 

“Please, don’t make an old man beg,” the familiar voice said. Percy shook his head and hanged the phone back without even saying a word.

 

The green-eyed man walked and walked and the black car and the men in black suits followed and followed. His cell phone rang from his pocket again, but he ignored it and instead finished his ridiculous excuse of a coffee and threw it at the nearest bin.

 

More blocks later, his phone had ringed thrice and people had already begun to give him funny looks so he yielded and answered his phone.

 

“There’s another payphone, a couple of blocks from here. Why don’t we make that ring, too?” The deep voice asked humorously.

 

“What do you want?” Percy bit.

 

There was a moment of silence, before the voice said, “For now, get in the car.”

 

Percy nodded, already prepared to end the call. Once his phone was safely tucked back in his pocket, Percy crossed the street towards the black car.

 

A tall burly man, with a mop of brown hair and eyes green like pond scum, stepped out of the car. Like all the rest, he was wearing a black suit with matching blood red necktie. He looked Percy up and down, like gauging an enemy. Percy was happy to look unbothered and stare at the man’s broken nose. He’s nervous and confused, but he won’t give them that satisfaction.

 

“Don’t even think about your little parlor trick with time, okay?” The man with pond scum for eyes said, voice gruff. Percy nodded stiffly. The former opened the car’s door and gestured for him to get inside.

 

Percy slid into the car’s passenger seat. The door thudded closed behind him. On the seat next to him was a man, with curly dark hair, in a deep red suit. He was smiling at Percy and appraising him with his golden eyes. When he said he’s an old man, Percy thought he was grey-haired, senile old. Instead, the man seating there wasn’t anything like that. Sure, he’s got a long pointy beard but that’s it. He’s not old, but not entirely young either.

 

“Hello, Perseus.” He smiles. “You can call me Kronos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for giving this work your time and effort. You can break out from the cage that is your mind. Have a great week!


	3. We Wear Red, So You Don't See Us Bleed 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is part 1 of 2. Rather than a bunch of excuses, I would like to ask yourselves how you’ve all been. I hope life is going well for you and if not, well, storms don’t last forever.
> 
> Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus are owned by Rick Riordan.
> 
> Title is from Valerie Broussard’s song, “Trouble.”

On the seat next to Percy was a man, with curly dark hair, in a deep red suit. He was smiling and appraising him with his golden eyes. When he said he's an old man, Percy thought he was grey-haired, senile old. Instead, the man seated there wasn't anything like that. Sure, he's got a long pointy beard but that's it. He's not old, but not entirely young either.

"Hello, Perseus." He smiles. "You can call me Kronos."

Percy didn't—couldn't answer, at first. He fidgeted and lightly tapped his knees with his fingers. He was aware when crooked nose, from earlier, entered the car in front and moved in as though he's much smaller and graceful in size. Percy tried to ignore him and instead, studied the older man before him, his old golden eyes and the smile on his face that seemed to become more glacial than chummy as moments ticked.

"Is that your real name or—" Percy's question was cut mid-sentence.

"Oh no but it sounds much better, you think?" Kronos admitted, smiling more. "It makes me feel  _nonpareil_." The way he talked gave equal stressing to every word that came out his mouth, especially the last one that Percy admittedly could not comprehend.

The green-eyed marine biologist frowned slightly. He titled his head a little to the side, before asking, "Make you feel like a what?"

Kronos waved his hand, ignoring his question and signaling the driver to start the car and drive.

"Where are we going?" He asked a different question then briefly studied the interior of the car, before looking back at the man beside him. There was nothing to see aside from the fact that there was no other color in there other than red and black.

"Work," was Kronos' brief answer.

Percy nodded as if this was answer enough. He looked at the two muscles sitting in front of the car. The other one might be busy driving but Percy would catch him gauging him at the mirror. He wasn't comfortable with this arrangement, but he wasn't about to do something stupid like panic or randomly punch a face.

He put on a straight face and inquired, "How did you find me?"

Kronos' lips quirked upwards into a thin smile. Percy thought he found his question humorously stimulating, but failed to see the joke in there.

"We have means." The man with golden eyes looked through—or maybe— _at_  the car's tinted window, paused for unwanted dramatic effect and then continued, "besides, you weren't being so careful at all. You froze time for thirty-minutes without fail, spring of this year. That needed a lot of compensation."

Percy knew that thirty minutes of extra sleep would haunt him soon. He had a date the night before but also got work the next day. Grover told him, he should've set the date for the weekends but he's having none of it. Numbly exhausted and sleep-deprived the next day, he's finally willing to admit that his best friend had been right. Waking up before a minute ends, just to refreeze time was stupid and he does not recommend it. The date wasn't even great, too. How Jean or Janet was able to talk about herself for hours was a wonder to him.

"I was playing chess with one of my men out there, Bryce," Kronos gestured a hand towards crooked nose. Said man of subject only grunted. "I was getting ready for my checkmate then—thirty minutes later, I still haven't moved and then I was winning. "Check!" I told him later on and we were starting a new game. It was too fast and I stopped because I know it."

Kronos paused again and looked at him as though they were sharing a secret joke of which only the two of them know. Honestly, the only thing Percy knew at that moment was how impatient he's getting to arrive at work. Today's one of those dragging days meant for writing proposals and he's usually barely the person to sit behind a desk all day. However, Percy would happily toil with Microsoft word, if it meant getting away from whatever dog door he's gotten himself stuck in.

"I think I'd know when the world is trying to make up for lost time. It races forward, in order to catch up." The gold of his eyes seemed to glint. The car halted for a while, red light glaring ahead, and smoothly continued down the road.

These words proved to be exactly what the older man needed to get the marine biologist's slipping attention.

"Can you..." Percy found his words trailing off.

"Freeze time like you?" Kronos supplied. "No. I'm not like you, Perseus Jackson."

Percy hung on to his every word. There's a heavier and deeper sense into it, but also stubbornly unwilling to reveal itself. He didn't say anything, only kept quiet and nodded, a tuft of his midnight hair fell from their far from immaculate coif and gave one of his green eyes a good stab.

Without losing any more time and further dramatic pauses, Kronos was handed a manila folder by Bryce. Crooked Nose, Percy baptized him. The older man said a few words of gratitude, inspected the folder's contents and handed it expectedly to the marine biologist.

For a horrible few seconds, Percy could only stare dumbly at the manila folder and the man's calloused fingers adorned with thick golden bands.

Kronos waved the manila folder. Percy dubiously accepted and, with a nod from the same man, began to check its paper contents.

 _ **Luke Castellan**_. The letters were bolded and italicized as though to stress this Luke's significance. His basic information followed. On the right was a candid picture of a man, maybe a few years Percy's senior, with sandy blonde hair and a thick pale scar that ran from the bottom of his right eye down to his chin.

An inkling of familiarity tugged on Percy. He read the name again, looked at the picture once more for good measure and then reread the name again.  _Have I seen that name before?_ Was Percy's nagging thought.

"What do I have to do with him?" He asked, skeptic and unconcerned, as he flipped through the papers filled with information that he's no concern to read.

Kronos smiled, a little too pleasant. "You can say that now but you haven't read enough of the files, yet."

Percy looked at the older man with curiosity. He didn't say anything for a while but only gestured with a calm flourish of his hands.

Granted the green-eyed man didn't have any other options, he read the first few words of the very first paper of the many files. There were three papers, okay? More than two is definitely many. Percy ran his eyes on the blond's basic information again: his name, age and even his birthdate. There was nothing that jumped on him until he stumbled upon the word "teleportation." His eyebrows scrunched even before he was aware of it.

"The bureau calls you "anomalies." Pretty contemptuous but it serves its meaning." Kronos answered his unasked question. Percy didn't even look at him but remained staring at the nonsensical word.

"What happened to him?" He thought out loud, not really expecting for an answer. Nevertheless, the man with eyes of gold delivered.

"There's a clandestine group specifically made by the government that monitors and deals with your kind. They like to be called "Olympians," Kronos laughed lightly, laughing at another joke that he only knows. "Pompous and pretentious," he murmurs and although Percy might not look like he's paying him any attention, he heard this particular comment and wanted to laugh at his unseen irony.

Kronos opened his hands in front of him. "We just call them "bureau" instead. In any case, they've taken Luke. We've known each other for years and he's become a son to me, you see. So, I keep tabs on him. His containment was heartbreaking but necessary. There were many men who wanted to capitalize his abilities. Recently, someone told me they're moving him to the main office..." He trailed, rested his ring-adorned fingers on his knees before he continued, "It's usually not good news if an anomaly's to be sent to the heart of the bureau."

"What do you want?" Percy cut to the chase. He didn't look at him but he knows there'd be a perfectly grave expression right there. No, he decided. He didn't need to see that. Instead, he focused his attention back on the paper and the word that went after "teleportation." It's either a good or bad word, depending on the context and situation.

Luke Castellan had long lost his ability to teleport but he's still a prisoner of the bureau, a prisoner of what he was and what people wanted from him.

" _You're_  an anomaly and Luke is an anomaly. Will  _you_  just let him die?" Kronos continued, challenging, and unbothered that the younger man seemed to pay him zero attention.

A twinge of indignance and then guilt arrested Percy. Who was this man to put him in such unwanted shame? Why was the bureau doing this? He looked at Luke Castellan's picture, once more, and wondered what kind of man he is. Will the bureau put him out for good? Why transfer him then? And if they are, will he really let this person die?

He heaved a deep sigh, closed the manila paper and leaned back on his seat, eyes already boring holes on the car's roof.

"What is it again?  _Corvus oculum corvi non eruit?"_  Kronos broke Percy's monotonous, unruly but rather conscientious thoughts.

"I don't know what that means." He grumbled back, lifting his head to now look at the older man who only smiled at him, imploring.

A heartbeat passed. Percy asked, "What's in it for me?"

Kronos angled his head to the side, a look on his face said that the answer is obvious enough. Still, he replied, "A guilt-free life and peaceful nights; knowing you have all this knowledge of what's about to happen to this man and you did something. You  _saved_  him."

Percy straightened on his seat, not quite convinced, yet. He looked at the older man with gold eyes, a shade darker than the last. There's a dimple between his eyebrows and a new question in his mind. "I mean no offense sir, but, uhm, you seem like a man with resources," he paused, "why can't you do it yourself?"

"None taken!" Kronos laughed, rich and loud as if he were a bigger man. "We're capable of doing many things, Perseus—"

"Just Percy, sir."

Kronos nodded, urgent. They're almost to work, not enough time for more chitchat and pleasantries. "We've done many things on our own, but not this one. This is something we'll need  _your_ help with."

"Let me get this straight," Percy opened his hands in front of him. "You want me to do what?"

"Get him out," Kronos replied, casual. He looked again at the tinted window, before looking back at Percy."I would offer you bring some of my men to help with the labor, but we both know they'd be useless once time stops, right?"

Percy knows he's right. Kronos could extend help in any way he can but once time stops, he's on his own. That is to say, if he's willing to go about the older man's plans. There are doubts, fear and also unreasonably rigid defiance not to do anything. Percy may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but this is dangerous stuff, illegal probably—no,  _certainly_ —and he's not entirely up to that. But. There's always a but, isn't there? Would he really just let Luke Castellan die?

"Can I sleep on it?" Finally, he asked.

"Sure, Percy. Sure." Kronos replied, hurried. He didn't seem disappointed, just patient. "My card." He handed said card to Percy. There are a telephone and a cell number there, both in small black letters, and a glinting gold symbol of a sickle inside a circle. "We'll be in touch tomorrow."

The car stopped at the corner near where Percy would spend most of the day, writing proposals for funding, fieldworks, and experiments.

"Now, off you go," Kronos told him. "I know you don't need me constantly pestering you but be careful. You don't want them to catch you." His words were heavy and Percy tethered on his seat.

"Them?" He asked, green eyes looking critically at the older man.

"I think you know," was Kronos' only answer.

Percy didn't see the need to respond. He pushed open the car's door, threw the manila folder on the seat with a soft plop and left.

He didn't look back to check if the car already left. He walked with purpose and pushed the front door with equal determination to go about the day.

Right, he needs to do his work. The papers, proposals, papers. He wishes he's doing fieldworks. Coffee. He needs coffee. Again. Maybe cookies. Yes, definitely cookies. There's also that thing with Castellan, too. He needs to mull over that, what was unwarrantedly thrusted to him.

Yup, it's gonna be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for giving this read your time. Tell me what you think.
> 
> Do not just exist. Live. Never let yourself be grounded. Aim high.


	4. We Wear Red, So You Don't See Us Bleed 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is anyone still reading this story, though? If there is/are, thank you so much and I’m truly sorry this took a long time. April’s been a busy month for me. There’s a wedding, a new job, working on some legal papers, anticipating endgame, getting sick, taking care of my dog who also got sick and then absorbing everything that happened in the endgame. I didn’t have enough time and emotional capacity to write.
> 
> Regardless, here it is. Chapter title is part 2 of 2.
> 
> Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus are owned by Rick Riordan.
> 
> Title is from Valerie Broussard’s song, “Trouble.”

Percy leaned back on his chair. The hollow steel legs wobbled and almost spilled him backward. His heart jumped behind its cage. It was frantic but only for a while.

 

He gripped the edge of the round dining table to steady himself and focused his attention back at the glaring screen of his laptop.

 

Percy Jackson would normally laugh at his clumsiness but he’s been distracted ever since that car ride more than twenty-four hours ago. As a matter of fact, he’s too distracted to the point where it’s already affecting his work input. Usually, he’s not the type to bring back work to his unit but because he couldn’t even finish past one proposal, he thought now’s probably the best chance for a first time.

 

The screen of his laptop remained threateningly bright. Percy sighed and pressed the function key and then another to lower its already low brightness. The cursor blinked at him, not really a tempting invitation to persist him on his work.

 

Squinting, Percy reread the last line he’s written. The words seemed to fly by him and not register at all. He reread it again and fixed an obvious typo that he should’ve noticed the first time. After that, he’s once again left staring at the screen. One would think being a native English speaker would make this easier but Percy’s pretty convinced he’s just proven it otherwise.

 

In the background, the television was alive and the news was droning on. Percy flicked his gaze at the news anchor with short slicked-back hair, then at his already cold microwaved meal on the same round table and back at his laptop’s screen.

 

Coming into terms that his attempts are all for waste, Percy saved the document, promised himself he’d work on them tomorrow and closed the device. He stood up from his agitation-inducing chair, stretched his legs for good measures and pulled out the contact card Kronos gave him. The gold logo impressed on the card glinted under the room’s light.

 

There was a moment of uncertainty. Percy wondered if this is by far one of the dumbest choices he’s ever made. He could act as if yesterday didn’t happen, couldn’t he? Could he? He can say he lost the card. He can—Percy dialed the number before his brain could come up with additional excuses that could possibly lead him to danger or possibly more.

 

“Percy Jackson,” the familiar voice from the end of the line greeted. Percy shot the television a look and then the door, unconsciously trying to find a way out of his current situation.

 

“I knew we’d hear from you,” Kronos grabbed him back to the beginning of their conversation. Percy didn’t like the smugness in his tone but who could blame him? Percy thought. He did say they’d be in touch. The green-eyed man was pretty tempted to end the call just to spite him. He could be juvenile that way.

 

“Did the sleep give you answers?” The older man asked.

 

It was eerie how Percy couldn’t make out any other sound from the end of the line, aside from the man’s low and still ever so distant voice.

 

The news anchor was already talking about the newest SRPs the government will enforce for a few particular produces starting next week, short of half a month before Thanksgiving.

 

“Percy,” the voice called again, nothing next to short-tempered. Although, Percy’s convinced he must have already called for his attention not only once.

 

“Ye—” Percy clears his throat. “Yes?”

 

“I was asking if you’ve made up your mind,” Kronos replied.

 

“Right,” He nodded in response. “Uh, I mean, no, about that,” he licked his lips, “I would like to know how? There’s only two days left before the transfer. If what I’ve been hearing about this secret government-operated agency is true, then am I not wrong to assume security would be tough?”

 

“Not at all,” Kronos chuckled. “It’s okay to be scared,” he added. Percy frowned at that. “Percy, son, listen,” he continued, calmly, “all we need is your “yes” and we’d take care of the other things that worry you.”

 

Percy Jackson sighed, biting his lips and running a hand through his dark poorly-groomed hair. He looked back at the television, attention not entirely caught but still somewhat peaked.

 

The room was dipped in dark orange and red as news of a senator’s burning mansion screened on the television. The field reporter had mentioned it was a level one incident. Not something the general public should worry about. A malfunctioning heating system seems to be the culprit, but foul play wasn’t ruled out, yet. A person in politics makes a lot of enemies in his lifetime, after all.

 

“Tomorrow,” Percy finally said, “I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.”

 

A brief silence and then, “Very well.”

 

The green-eyed man didn’t say anything. He waited, staring at the news on tv.

 

“We trust you’ll be in touch,” Kronos said.

 

“Tomorrow,” Percy repeated.

 

“Sleep tight, Percy Jackson. You’ll need it,” the older man bid him well. His tone was light but Percy could tell there’s a threat or maybe a challenge somewhere hidden in his words. The line died before he could even say anything, not that he was going to, anyway.

 

Percy threw himself on his worn out couch, left his phone beside him and stared at the television screen. The news about the house fire was still on but his focus wasn’t on it. He pushed his head back, resting it on the couch’s already exposed wooden frame, and stared at the ceiling. Right, he needs a new sofa. Possibly one that's less likely to give him stiff necks and with softer foams.

 

He thought about his mom and what she’d tell him now if she’s still alive. He couldn’t let Luke Castellan die. He hates how helpless he feels like an animal stuck in a dog door or like one of those sea turtles he’d often release from knots of nets and webs of plastic wastes thrown and carried into the water.

 

A ping. Percy looked down at the space beside him on the seat. His phone was alight. Lazily, he swiped the screen to open the newest message from his best friend. How are you? Grover’s message greeted him, making him feel slightly assaulted.

 

For a moment, Percy Jackson was tempted. He could tell Grover everything that’s happened from the car ride up to this point. Grover would know what to do. Maybe Annabeth, too. Percy sighed, remembering then that the blonde had told him not to talk to her ever again.

 

He sighed again, turned his phone off and padded to his bedroom, hoping sleep would come for him tonight.

 

* * *

 

Sleep didn’t come for him, not right away.  On his bed, Percy Jackson tossed and drowned in thoughts for hours before he was able to fall asleep. He woke up, a few hours later, with a horrible feeling of exhaustion as if he got ran over by a steamroller.

 

His phone burned menacingly bright at him. The contact number he dialed last night was on his screen. If this falls on my face, I won’t take it, he thought. He waited, staring back at the painfully bright cellphone and kept waiting.

 

The alarm Percy had set for the morning went off. He turned it off, sighed and rolled face down on his bed. Maybe trusting pain with his destiny was a stupid idea, after all. Then again, Kronos was right. He can’t and won’t live with the fact that he knows something and ends up not doing anything.

 

As he sat on his bed, his phone pinged to life again. It’s another message from Grover, checking up on him. Usually, he’d call but Grover’s been busy with his work. Right from saving the earth down to extending help in areas affected by forest fires, or so he says. Percy wasn’t sure. He’s rattled now, more than ever. Should he take sick leave or something? Should he really help Luke Castellan?

 

The green-eyed man sighed again and composed a quick response to his best friend. He guessed he owed him one. It was nothing long, only a few words of reassurance and a return of the same inquiry.

 

Percy combed back his hair, away from his eyes. He dialed the same number he had called, last night.

 

The line rang and rang and finally, there was a voice. “Percy Jackson,” Kronos greeted.

 

“I’ll do it,” he told the older man, face impassive.

 

There was a beat before, “I have to say, I’m pleased with your decision.”

 

Percy found no words to respond to that.

 

Kronos seemed unbothered. “There will be security, of course. The caravan will be on national road. We’ll take care of the traffic cameras and your transportations,” he explained. The instructions weren’t hard to remember, or maybe it was the adrenaline that helped him store all the information. All he needed to do is be at a place at an exact time, do his time “mumbo jumbo” as per the older man’s words, get his son, drive him to another place, leave him and the car, get in the other car waiting for him there, drive to this other place and leave that car too.

 

“These may sound easy, but opening the bus is hard work enough. How much more if he doesn’t come with me?” Percy wondered.

 

“His life’s in danger, why wouldn’t he?” Kronos responded, conviction laced in every word. “Besides, I do not doubt you have a few more tricks up your sleeves. You didn’t survive this long because you’re weak. You’re quite tenacious. Show them how creative you can be.”

 

“This is in two days time.” Percy reminded him. _Less_ , he noted, internally.

 

“Exactly,” Kronos replied, still calm, “it’s urgent we get him back. We don’t know what the bureau plans to do to him once the transfer’s done. You have an idea about what they do to people like you, right?”

 

Yes, Percy has ideas, but they’re nothing close to concrete.

 

“Perseus—”

 

“Percy,” the green-eyed man corrected.

 

“This means so much to me, Percy. Thank you,” Kronos told him. The doubt roosting in his chest wavered. Percy can only hum in response.

 

Kronos didn’t falter. He greeted, _“Bonne chance!”_

 

“I also don’t know what that means.”

 

* * *

 

 

The first car was located a few miles away from the expected route the “caravan” would take. It was grey, sporty and compact in design. It’s simple, not at all grand. Perfectly mundane.

 

“Huh,” was Percy’s only reaction at seeing the car.

 

Percy checked the car’s compartment as instructed and found a pair of elbow-length leather gloves, a lockpick kit, and a black full-faced mask. His skeptic and nervous about everything. He’s not too outdated to know that, with today’s technology, impressions left by gloves can already be detected, too. If the need arises, he also knows how to use a lockpick. All thanks to a few idiotic incidents of getting himself locked out of his apartment. The mask, though, he’s not exactly looking forward of using. Does this make me a criminal? He wondered.

 

Sighing, Percy readjusted the rear-view mirror. Kronos had promised him they’d take care of traffic cameras and anything that could stump his attempt to get Luke Castellan back. Was Percy really putting his trust on a man he just met? Is he really doing this?

 

The car let out a barely audible purr as he pulled out of the drive and into the road.

 

Percy first saw the bus. It was big, gunmetal in color and scarily imposing. But maybe, it was only Percy’s fear resurfacing. He noticed a black car tailing it. Additional security, probably.

 

He thought about his mom and her picture safely tucked in his wallet. He breathed in, raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

 

The air felt heavy. Everything felt sluggish and then they stopped, all at once. He pressed the start button of his wristwatch. 49 seconds, it counted down from fifty. Only Percy Jackson can move now. Annabeth is an exception but she’s not here, is she? She might wonder why time stopped again. She’d probably— _will_ be mad. Percy stared critically at what’s in front of him, assessed the situation and nodded to himself. He placed all thoughts of Annabeth right where they’re supposed to be: folded at the back of his mind.

 

His steps were careful but quick, almost light. There were a total of two black cars. One in front of the bus and the other was at the tail.

 

Percy couldn’t tell how many people were in each car, but he’s always had a knack for thinking the worst. He assumed there were eight agents for both cars, added together.

 

Finally, he approached the bus. Its windows were tinted dark and felt more impressive, up-close. His timer went off. Its sound was tinny and reminded him of his college days when he used to go for extra laps, just because he loves swimming and that his scholarship sort of, kind of, has to do with it. Everything felt simpler, back then—Percy snapped his fingers to stop time from the beginning and restarted the countdown.

 

Gloves on, he tested the bus’ door. It was open. Percy thought it odd but he wasn’t about to complain. He shot his car a look before heaving another deep breath and entering the vehicle.

 

The bus driver was behind the wheel, unblinking, and lips puckered. He seemed to be whistling a song before everything froze, or maybe he was just talking. Percy didn’t really care.

 

An armed prison guard with an eyepatch over an eye, shotgun in his arms and stun gun strapped on his thigh was leaning next to the gate of the steel screen that separates the bus driver from the prisoners. In this case, there was only one prisoner.

 

The prisoner with sandy blond hair was leaning on one of the barred and screened windows. He’s unmoving like the rest, eyes closed.

 

Percy approached, opening the gate with one of the armed guard’s many keys. On closer inspection, the blond appeared all beaten up. Luke Castellan was covered both in fresh and old bruises. The thick, deep pale scar that ran from the bottom of one of his eyes down to his chin seemed trivial compared to the varying patches on his skin.

 

An alarm went off but Percy, surprisingly, didn’t panic. He snapped his fingers before time could begin and let the timer ran from fifty again.

 

Unconscious or not, Percy knew he’d have to carry Luke Castellan out of the bus and into his car. Percy’s admittedly athletic but he’s only carried another person thrice in his lifetime, and all were during moments of pure adrenaline. He shrugged, admitting defeat to what the moment demanded. He’s already in this deep. He might as well do his best. Fear’s long been defeated by his resolve to help the man.

 

The marine biologist studied the man with sandy blond hair, mentally taking notes of the things he should keep an eye on, just in case. He was wearing a white shirt, a pair of grey pants, blue slip-on shoes and restrained with handcuffs, a waist chain, and ankle shackles. Percy thought he’d only see this in movies.

 

Percy tugged on the handcuffs. He didn’t want to unchain him if things would pan out of hand. He feels bad for Castellan, but he’s not entirely sure releasing him this prematurely would be a good idea. So Percy shot the armed guard in front a look and then the other who’s located at the back of the bus behind another steel gated screen, before grunting and lifting the man with a scar down his chin.

 

Everything went eerily smooth after that. Percy made sure to keep time frozen even after he’s safely strapped Luke Castellan in the second car—white and also dull in design—and driven him to the location stated in the instructions Kronos gave him.

 

Percy unstrapped his seatbelt. He looked over at Luke Castellan, still knocked out and frozen in time as he leaned in to reach the leather gloves he used. I’m keeping them, he decided and only to throw them later along with the wrappings and carton cup of his subway sandwich and atrocious coffee.

 

Truthfully, Percy was proud of himself. If he was doubtful before, he’s no longer anything close to it now. Whatever they did to Luke Castellan, it wasn’t nice.

 

Percy Jackson left the scene, as quickly as he could. He walked and walked and ducked to hitch a ride on the subway. Finally, he let time catch up to the minutes he stole.

 

“We’ve already been reunited with Castellan,” Kronos called later when Percy was back in his apartment and at a different war with his Microsoft Word. Kronos continued, obviously delighted, “It feels so good to have our dear friend back. Thank you, Percy Jackson.”

 

“Sure,” the marine biologist could only say. He was flattered, uncertainty forgotten.

 

“Don’t be a stranger,” was the answer from the end of the line, “I know, we’ll see each other again soon.”

 

Hopefully not, Percy thought. No, he prayed. Then again, there’s a “but.” There will always be a “but.” They were the one who found him in the beginning, after all. He sighed, tiredly ran down a hand over his face and played a song from one of his favorite artists.

 

Percy stared into space, barely comprehending the Fall Out Boy pop-punk song that’s playing in the background. It’s one of his all-time favorites, but that doesn’t seem to matter then. He brought his attention back to his laptop, the unfinished project proposal taunting him with its blinking cursor, and continued to work.

 

* * *

 

 

The night sky was a chilly black and almost void of stars. Although, the moon was out. It’s a waning crescent in the velvet blanket of the dark night.

 

An old square of wasteland laid a distance from the docks. Both bought, long ago, by the _Don_ himself. High brick wall crowned with shards of glass and razor wire enclosed the space of wasteland. Its two metal gates were towering and locked. Through the spaces laid a small shed meant for security and beyond that were the piles of old and broken cars. They, the cars, are only but remains of what once of value and just waiting to be thrown into the crusher.

 

Beyond the piles was a warehouse as old as the junkyard and far older than the fence that stood now. It’s huge and adequately spacious, suited for storing and stacking piles of used car batteries, wheels and gas tanks.

 

There was a soft clunk. A black cat sat on the topmost vehicular carcass of its chosen pile. The car was a dull rusty red in color compared to the cat’s coat of deep black luster that seemed almost like leather. Its curious copper eyes, bright in the night, looked around the expanse. It licked its paw once and then twice, before wiping the same paw on its face.

 

The fish-shaped silver tag attached to its light blue collar caught the light from the moon and glinted. “Bianca,” was engraved on it, above the owner’s contact number. For a while, Bianca seemed slack and then her attention snapped to the warehouse, as though she’s wholly aware of what was happening inside.

 

A light flickers on and off in the already dimly lit warehouse.

 

In the middle of everything was a man with sandy blond hair strapped on a chair, sweating although freezing and fully awake. His blue eyes were vivid, burning, as he watched and waited for whatever’s to happen. The long deep scar that ran across one of his eyes felt like tooth-edged pain. That one annoying light kept flickering.

 

“Bryce.”

 

“Yes, sir?” The man with green as pond scum for eyes answered the old man.

 

“Do you know what irritates me the most, right now?” Kronos asked, a blank expression on his face. It’s a look no follower of the Don likes.

 

There was a short silence. “Luke Castellan, sir?” Bryce asked. A few others, in the same dark suit and bloody red tie, murmured in agreement.

 

“He’s a thorn on my side, yes, but I’m certain it’s not him.”

 

Bryce was lost and confused. His crooked nose was scrunched in an attempt of concentration.

 

Kronos sighed, golden eyes narrowing, offended by the lackey’s ineptness. “The light, Bryce! It hurts my eyes.” His voice was steady but firm, almost lashing. It wasn’t only Bryce who flinched. “Are we in a movie? Get someone to fix it, after this.”

 

“As soon as possible, sir,” Bryce nodded his meek head.

 

Satisfied with the answer, Kronos trained his eyes to the man strapped on the chair. The very same man who he thought of as his son, someone who’d probably succeed him in the future and would definitely be good at it. But, not all good things last. It doesn’t matter now. Luke Castellan is nothing but another expendable.

 

“Offered you a better deal, did they?” he asked the younger man. His tone was chatty and his smile was neighborly. The blond knows better not to fall victim to them, especially if venom spills from his words.

 

“Might as well be a dog to them than you,” Luke answered, picking up his already heavy head and giving the older man a sickly smile.

 

“You’re not a dog to them, son,” Kronos said. His gold eyes were hard and sharp under the warehouse’s almost dim and flickering light. “Dogs are spoiled and indulged. You were fooled.”

 

Luke only grunted. He knows where this is going now. Hell, he doesn’t even care how he got here in the first place. Kronos has his ways.

 

“We were amazing, Castellan. Pity your commitment’s changed. A tut-tut and then a few more words. “You disappoint me.”

 

Those words would’ve hurt before. But, Luke was no longer that kind of man. “Fucking devil,” he snorted.

 

“No, not a devil,” Kronos said, smiling almost serenely, “I’m more than that.” He turned slightly to Bryce and nodded his head.

 

The blond huffed. He knows he could be a good leader but he’s always been a fair-weather follower. It didn’t matter if he constantly changed allegiance. Before, his loyalty lies to those who could keep him alive. Nothing changed much. It’s just he realized that he has more to his life than just himself.

 

Bryce nodded in return. His green eyes were hard, a robot set on whatever it’s been told to do.

 

Luke Castellan stared back at him, equally unwavering. He thought of his mother in her younger years. She was tall and beautiful with blonde hair and a genial smile. He thought of the last he’s seen her—thin, scarecrow-like, eyes as foggy on cloudy days and a mop of grey hair that’s almost white. Still beautiful. Still his mother—

 

The light flickers. A gunshot rang out, muddled by the sound from the docks and the untimely whir of the crusher.

 

Bianca hissed, black fur raising. The Bombay cat jumped from car to car and ran her way back home.

 

A stray dog howls somewhere in the wasteland.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for putting your time in reading this. I hope everything’s going well for you. 
> 
> A few words for the soul: “My country, right or wrong; if right, to be kept right; and if wrong, to be set right;” Carl Schurz. 
> 
> Per aspera ad astra.


	5. What You Don’t Know Can’t Hurt You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. How are you? I’ve let this piece to gather cobwebs, far too long than I intended. Work was kicking my ass and my laptop finally hit the bucket which both put a temporary stop to my writing. Plus, there was something about this chapter that gave me some sense of reservation. I kept rewriting this but still couldn’t find the right groove. Or whatever. Constructive criticism and reviews are highly appreciated.
> 
> Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Heroes of Olympus are owned by Rick Riordan.

Funding for the organization’s next study slash project was finally approved, a few days after its submission. Percy Jackson was over the moon. By this time tomorrow morning, he’d be diving for mussels that’d be taken back to the lab for observation later that day. But right now, he can focus on relaxing and enjoying himself. Sort of.

 

Eyes focused on his phone, Percy grabbed another one of his blue cookies, bit idly and continued reading a research paper about the present status of sturgeons somewhere in Turkey. _Muskrat Love_ played in the background; Grover hummed, time to time, all the way from the kitchen as he prepared their coffee.

 

A series of knocks pounded on the door and then, “Perseus Jackson.”

 

Percy looked at the door, completely annihilated the blue cookie into his mouth and stood up from the couch that’s just begging to be replaced. He made his way to the door and opened.

 

“Who are you?” The green-eyed marine biologist asked the man who stood before him. He’s blond and tall, probably taller than Percy by an inch or two. He’s looking at Percy with so much authority, blue eyes hard on him.

 

“I am Agent Grace,” He said, nodding slightly. “Do you mind us coming in?” He asked and gestured with his head at the three other people behind him who were all wearing the same black and white suit.

 

There was a split second where Percy dared to freeze time. He didn’t do it, but it didn’t mean he felt good about what’s to happen. Percy threw a look at the three other agents who all seemed as sinister as they look at him without any hint of emotion. Then, he’s opening the door wide for them.

 

Agent Grace nodded in appreciation. Percy waves at the beaten-up couch, a clear invitation to sit. Not one accepted the offer. The soft rock song playing earlier finally ended.

 

“Where were you between nine and eleven in the morning of the first of October?” Agent Grace inquired, still looking at him critically.

 

“Work. Why? What’s going on?” Percy Jackson answered without a hitch. The lie came out smooth. He _did_ lose a few nights trying to put his mind at ease.

 

The agent blinked at him, unamused. “We called your work, said you took an off that day.”

 

Percy swallowed. A new song began to play; genre: synthpop, a special picking of the marine biologist.

 

“We want you down at our office, Mr. Jackson. I suggest you come with us, now.”

 

“Why?” He asked them. His hands were still on the doorknob. A nagging thought in his mind begged him to run. Instead, he added, “Can I see your identification? You don’t look like cops.”

 

Agent Grace grabbed from his back pocket, flashed a gold badge—ohm in the middle—and replied with a small smile, “We _can_ be nastier than them, Mr. Jackson.”

 

“Percy, are you—”

 

All five turned their gaze to the speaker. Grover Underwood was out of the kitchen, a dirty blue apron around his waist, with two mugs of steaming coffee. The rich aroma wafted around the room and made Percy feel more nervous than he was.

 

“Grover—” the marine biologist tried to say. But his friend’s attention wasn’t completely on him.

 

“Jason?” Grover asked. “What’s going on?” He looked at Agent Grace, then to Percy and back at the agent. He seemed anxious and scared. As though someone placed a dozen rabbits in the same room as him, and Percy knew so well that his friend has a terrible case of lepirophobia.

 

“Jason?” Percy mouthed without sound, eyebrows furrowing. He watched in silence and disbelief. Understanding slowly dawned on him.

 

“You should know. Aren’t’ you supposed to watch over him?” Is Agent Grace’s answer. It isn’t close to harsh but it still felt critical.

 

“Grover, what’s going on? Who are these people?” Percy turned to Grover. The latter, lips pursed, scrambled to put down the mugs he was holding. A scolded child.

 

“Tell him, agent.” The agent nodded his blond head to Grover while he pocketed back his badge.

 

“Percy, I—”

 

“You work _with_ them? How?” The green-eyed man gestured to the people in pressed suits, all looking unreadable.

 

“I—listen, Jason,” Grover stumbled with his words. He looked at the agent again. “What’s wrong? What does the bureau think he did?”

 

Agent Grace shook his head. “We don’t think it. We _know_ it,” he answered, confident and grim.

 

“Percy’s a good guy,” the man with curly brown hair said as if it’s a saving grace the agents should take into account. But it’s not enough, not by a long shot.

 

“We’ll talk about that in the bureau. Let’s go.” Agent Grace was unyielding. He nodded his head at the other agents behind him and towards Percy. “Escort him to the car.”

 

Percy looked back and forth at the agents and Grover. He doesn’t know what to do. Cold gripped his chest. He knew what he _might’ve_ done. He knew and yet, he’s unwilling to believe that it was bad. Was it bad? What _is_ bad?

 

Agent Grace looked at him square in the eyes. His blue eyes were electric and critical, a warning that running away would only be futile. “Cooperation is your best option, Percy Jackson.”

 

They won’t see him scared and winded. Percy won’t allow them that satisfaction.

 

Grover looked at him and knew exactly what he intended to do. His best friend shook his head and protested once more, but Percy’s mind was made up. The green-eyed marine biologist nodded, grabbed his keys and wallet on the coffee table, and allowed himself to be taken away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Going with the agents of Olympians or the “bureau,” to put it simply, wasn’t a hard decision to make. Percy knew from the start that he didn’t have any choice. It’s a terrifying “decision” but yielded a lot of answers that confused the marine biologist rather than enlighten him.

 

Percy, of course, learned Kronos’ birth name. The old man may be a lot of things but he wasn’t lying when the name he answers to now is “ _nonpareil_ ” in comparison to the one typed on his birth certificate. Kronos or the Don runs a league of his own version of people like Percy Jackson; special people beaten by the world and their drive to get back at it. They are called, “Titans.” So much for pompous and pretentious.

 

The group “Titan” has been linked to various crimes from petty white-collar schemes to first-degree felonies. Someone connected to the crimes will always be placed behind bars. Or removed out of the picture, Percy thought. But the mastermind would always run free. Kronos is untouchable in so many ways than one.

 

Beads of cold sweat ran down the marine biologist’s nape. He felt lightheaded and utterly horrible.

 

“You’re lucky no one got hurt.” Agent Jason Grace told Percy, looking him square in the eyes and breaking him out of his hellish thoughts. He was standing in front a huge screen with his hands planted on the wide oak table in front of him that gives Percy Jackson a safe distance from possible strangulation and/or a hole in the head.

 

Percy looked at the screen. The video was paused but seeing it once was enough to engrave in his mind everything that happened.

 

As soon as he allowed time to run again, many things caught up.  An explosion. Fire engulfed the bus. A few debris flew around the vicinity. The dashcam video shook as the agents got out of their respective cars to save their lives. A few seconds passed and then a couple of explosions came and obliterated any kind of evidence Percy might’ve left in the scene.

 

Or it should have been the case. The bureau is a resourceful bunch. As soon as it settled on the leading team that time itself had been tampered on, it was easy to find the only existing time freezer. It’s no surprise, though; they’ve been keeping tabs on him, after all. Grover Underwood is its living proof; a fact that still upsets the marine biologist.

 

“What about Castellan?” Percy asked. “What happened to him?” He kept his eyes trained on the blond agent, unwilling to show not a single soul in the room his fear and the guilt that was slowly gnawing on him.

 

“I’m afraid that’s classified,” the agent answered back.

 

“So, you don’t know?” Percy retorted, seeing through the lie. Another agent snorted. Agent Grace looked at her briefly. Agent La Rue raised both her hands in the air and mouthed a half-meant apology.

 

The blond agent looked down at his fists and back at the marine biologist. “We don’t,” he admitted, “but hopefully, not six feet under.”

 

This answer was another wave of punches for Percy. Before he could ask what it meant, Agent La Rue commented, “If he _is_ , we’d know. Kronos likes getting his message across.”

 

“Not if he wants to keep us wondering, searching,” Agent Grace growled under his breath.

 

“Why,” Percy stammered with his question. “Why would he want Castellan dead after all the length of effort to get him back?”

 

“Luke Castellan intended to help us take down Kronos, for good,” another agent answered Percy. Agent Zhang’s tall, muscular and imposing with broad shoulders. He’s also one of the quiet ones, not saying a word until needed; content with observing.

 

Percy looked at them. Grover looked openly sorry for him. The marine biologist looked away and back at Agent Zhang.

 

The buzz of work happening outside droned on as Percy’s guilt weighed on him completely.

 

If that was the case, it made sense why Kronos would want to get rid of Luke Castellan. He shadowed the Don a long time enough to know his plans; how to build them up and break them down. Unless Luke didn’t really intend to work with the bureau. An act of double-crossing doesn’t seem farfetched. Who’s to say that everyone he meets is telling the truth? Still, Percy’s hands balled into fists; his gut felt like it’s been lodged with a heavy stone.

 

“Mr. Jackson,” Agent Grace called for his attention. There’s a certain finality to his voice. Obviously, their time for him was almost at its end. The blond agent leaned a little forward, hands once again planted on the table. “If they try to approach you or you see even just a hint of their shadow, you tell us.”

 

“What if I don’t?”

 

Agent Grace blinked. “If you can’t change a problem, you remove it.”

 

“You’ll get rid of me,” Percy Jackson responded; it wasn’t a question but a statement filled with ugly certainty.

 

Grover shifted in his seat. He hissed Percy’s name but the green-eyed man refused to look at him.

 

“There’s stuff happening that you know nothing about. People’s peace and safety are threatened every day. If we need to trade one life in exchange for thousands,” Agent Grace said coolly, “we _will_ do it.”

 

“How do you sleep at night?” Percy Jackson asked with poison in his voice. He looked at the agents. Agent Zhang’s head hanged low and Grover made a sound close to a bleat. The other three stared at him with zero emotion.

 

“We do what we have to do,” the blond agent answered, a beat later. He was looking at the screen, still paused at the exact moment of the explosion that took the bus. “Doesn’t mean we like what we do.”

 

Percy blinked. The derision died on his tongue. What was Percy doing? Yes, the bureau’s body count is a matter that needs discussing but aren’t they here because of him? Would Luke Castellan be missing if not for him?

 

The marine biologist looked at Agent Grace and nodded. “Yes, I understand,” he said, finally finding his voice.

 

“I’m glad you understand.” The agent bobbed his head slightly. “But before we forget, you mentioned a business card Kronos gave you?”

 

The green-eyed man nodded, already pulling out his wallet where said card was slipped between a few meal vouchers and yellowing receipts. When was the last time he got rid of paper wastes? Percy took out the card and stared.

 

He’s only then noticed the scythe sitting right in the middle of the circle. It’s a scathing reminder of Kronos’ tricks and how dumb he had acted.

 

Percy Jackson raised his head. An agent—a Rodrigo or maybe a Rodriguez—stepped forward with an open evidence bag in one hand. Percy dropped the card in bag without second thoughts. He felt better, not entirely but one less rock lodged in his throat is better than none.

 

Agent Grace shot a few commands, things needed to be done with the evidence at hand, to the other agent. The Hispanic agent nodded at the marine biologist, before closing the bag.

 

The marine biologist, Grover in tow, got out of the building with zero bruises and only a demand to thread carefully and scrutinizing eyes on his back. Percy Jackson still looked like the same person but left feeling changed. He wondered again, for the nth time and probably not the last, if his ability to freeze time is a blessing or a curse.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re working with them,” Percy said, not looking at his best friend.

 

They were back at his apartment, sat on the sofa with no other audience except for Percy’s guilt regarding his actions and maybe, Grover’s too for keeping such critical secret.

 

Percy leaned forward to grab the television’s remote control from the coffee table. Once on, the television filled the room with advertisement noise, which’s admittedly better than the violent silence. “When were you going to tell me?” He asked Grover, finally shifting on his seat and looking him straight in the eyes.

 

Grover, for the second time that day, appeared like a scolded child. He lightly scratched his chin, fingers briefly combing through his wispy beard. He sighed, muttered, “I—” and ultimately, faltered to a stop.

 

“You weren’t, were you?” Percy asked, already knowing his answer to the question. The next ad was colorful and its music tinny. Normally, Percy enjoyed it. He’s got the jingle memorized and could sing it in his sleep. Instead, he threw daggers with his eyes at the TV before settling them back to his best friend.

 

Grover squeaked an apology. The marine biologist deflated marginally, reasons coming to mind without actually hearing them.

 

The green-eyed man sighed. “How long?”

 

“Since I was young, I guess?” Grover answered him. He pulled the Rasta cap off his head. “Dad was an agent. Grandpa was, too,” he continued, fiddling with the knitted hat, and a small smile on his face at the mention of his family. Sobering, he said at last, “I guess it made sense that I get to be one, as well.”

 

He trained his brown eyes on Percy. “Then one day, _you_ ,” he gestured at him, “became one. They assigned me to your case. Just to keep an eye on you and see where you’ll go as an ano—a person.”

 

“An anomaly,” Percy stated. “It’s what you call people like me.”

 

“Why do you make it sound so bad?” Grover’s shoulders sagged.

 

The green-eyed marine biologist sighed. “It sounds like an insult,” he confessed. Grover apologized, lips pursed in a frown. He knew Grover meant his apology. Hell, he knew Grover always means well. Yet, Percy couldn’t bring himself to answer. What was there to say?

 

Percy finally got tired of the ads that didn’t seem to be ending soon. He flicked through several channels before settling on a rerun of the _Blue Planet II_.

 

“Listen, Perce,” Grover gestured with both his hands in front of him. “I didn’t want to tell you. I was pretty confident you won’t get involved in any of this bullshit.”

 

A small smile quirked up Percy’s lips, but only slightly. Grover Underwood barely curses. He’s always thinking about setting a good example, especially since he’s a few years older than his best friend. Really, a cursing Grover is practically a celestial event.

 

“I think,” Percy paused, throwing him a brief look, “I was already involved the moment I learned I could freeze time.”

 

Grover had pursed his lips again. He studied the Rasta cap in his hands, for a while, and then snuggly placed it back on. “Thought it’d do you good,” he said, later, a few minutes in the documentary. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.”

 

Percy snorted but didn’t say anything; his head already filled with another version of the stupid idiom. He leaned back on the sofa, willing it to just swallow him. It didn’t, because seriously the damn couch is only good at giving him stiff necks and the usual bumps and bruises whenever he sits wrong.

 

“Be honest with me Grover,” he looked at his best friend, “Was anyone hurt?”

 

A small comforting smile etched on his best friend’s face. “Aside from Jason’s pride?” He asked, humor in his voice. “No one in our knowledge.”

 

Percy nodded, somehow feeling a little better. He supposed now is a better time to get as many answers as he could get from his best friend before he advertently clams up. He asked about his ability; Grover only provided answers Annabeth had already given him. This led to him learning they know each other, not really close but the familiarity’s there. Heat rushed to his cheeks and shame assaulted him, just as the thought of asking more about Annabeth Chase.

 

“The deaths are unforgivable. The bureau is not perfect,” Grover told him sullenly. The statement’s an answer to a question regarding the deaths that come with being in the radar of the Olympians. “But, it’s better than others out there.”

 

“Agent Grace said that people’s safety is threatened every day,” the marine biologist started. He abruptly stopped, marveling at the scene playing on the television. The humpback whales swimming through the ocean’s dark blue hue was magnificent and inviting. For a while, Percy was distracted. A distraction that’s not exactly unwanted. The shot was unreal and made him contrite for humanity.

 

He blinked, green eyes finally moving back to his best friend. “What did he mean by that?”

 

“You’re not the only one of your kind, you know that. There’s—”

 

“What?”

 

Grover sighed again. He rubbed a fist on one eye. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it, Perce.” He caught himself, a frown evident on his face. “I’m sorry.” It was an apology so heavy that Percy knew he wasn’t only apologizing for giving him a vague and short answer. He looked at his best friend, found himself apologizing back before nodding.

 

The green-eyed marine biologist understood that perhaps if not for Grover, he would have not been easy with the bureau. He might not trust the bureau completely but Grover does.

 

Percy thinks that’s good enough for him.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m coming,” Percy Jackson grumbled with his face still buried in his sheets and _still_ felt very far from wakefulness.

 

The knocks kept coming. Percy lost count how many times they did. Whoever was behind his door, was either deaf or in need of some efficient anger management methods. He honestly hoped it was the former.

 

He wiggled out of his sheets. A feat hard to achieve since he’s still half asleep. The knocks turned to pounding. Percy scrambled to get up, caught a foot in his blanket and ultimately, stumbled down the wooden floor. He groaned.

 

As though mocking him, the knocks only came louder than before. Percy hauled himself from the floor and trudged to the door, muttering how he thought he could get proper sleep now after a week of having to wake up early for their dives and a bunch of other incoherent sentences after that. Percy Jackson’s a morning person. Sort of.

 

“Honestly, Grover,” Percy began as he opened the door, eyes barely open. “If this is you, I can’t allow you to listen to _Muskrat Love_ here or around me ever—”

 

Percy Jackson stopped dead, green eyes widening at the sight of a person standing in front of him.

 

Annabeth Chase, hands across her chest, was looking at him with her stormy grey eyes looking far from chummy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for giving this read your time. Again, constructive criticism and reviews are highly appreciated.
> 
> Words for the soul: “You are brave, even in the subtlest ways. And you may not always feel like the fire that you are, but you will shine on anyway.” – Morgan Harper Collins


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